


Too Late

by some_written_stuff



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fanfiction, One-Shot, Reader Insert, SPN - Freeform, too late
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 09:45:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18385931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/some_written_stuff/pseuds/some_written_stuff
Summary: Today's the day. Dean Winchester is finally going to propose to you after years of hunting together. With every detail planned, what could possibly go wrong?





	Too Late

Please don’t be too late.

Dean Winchester repeated the phrase like a mantra in his head, running as fast as his legs could carry him and then some. Now don’t get me wrong, the eldest Winchester is in no way desperate, well, except when it comes to his little brother, Sammy, and his angel friend Castiel. At least, that was true until he met you all those years ago…

*

Fuck. This was a bad idea. A very, very bad idea. Good going, (Y/N). The stupid, blood-thirsty monsters you had been hunting were about to kill you. Great. Sure, you had been hunting basically since the day you were born but still, you shouldn’t have underestimated this case.

You came to this small town to take down a nest of vampires. No biggie, right? Wrong. Your stupid, machete wielding ass stormed into their nest expecting to take out twelve vamps at the most but nope, you just couldn’t ever have an easy hunt, could you?

There were twenty-one of those blood-suckers waiting for you and they sure didn’t waste any time trying to take you down. You managed to behead fourteen, which you were proud of, but by the time the rest of the nest closed in, your arms felt like lead and your legs were screaming for mercy. Still, you kept on swinging.

You had accepted that you were done for when your knights in shining armor–or in this case plaid–screeched in with their 1967 Chevy Impala. They made quick work of the remaining seven vampires and offered to buy you a drink after dressing your wounds–they may have been hunters but they were gentlemen too. They invited you to work with them for a little while, something about safety in numbers or whatever, and that little while turned into months, then years, and eventually the thought of leaving became silly. You were family.

**

Run. Don’t stop. Don’t think. Run.

Please don’t be too late.

Dean’s legs are numb, his lungs burning, but he doesn’t let that slow him down. He has to get to you. He tries–and fails–to not think about the what ifs. You had been by his side for five years, had been his girlfriend for three of those, and he was planning on making you his forever with the ring in his pocket.

He had everything planned out, from the petals of your favorite flowers making a pathway to him from the door of the bunker, to the placement of your favorite scented candles so they’d cast a comforting glow across the room. Sam was hiding across the road, waiting in anticipation for you to arrive so he could text his brother to get in position. Castiel was acting as lookout, making sure nobody–or thing–interrupted the perfect moment for his favorite humans.

The three hunters were waiting for what seemed like an eternity for you to come back from your supply run when Castiel suddenly appeared with a bewildered Sam in tow. Dean darted out of his seat, anxious to hear what the angel had to say. “Sam, Dean, we have a problem.”

Dean felt his heart drop to his feet as he stumbled over his words,“What is it? What’s wrong? Is it (Y/N)? Is she ok?”

“No, she is in trouble. She was captured by demons and they are threatening to kill her,” Cas said grimly.

The eldest Winchester visibly paled,“Well, what are you waiting for? Zap us over there.” Dean demanded, desperation and panic obvious in his voice.

Castiel looked at the ground as he admitted he couldn’t,“They must have used a spell or warding or something powerful to keep me away. It took most of my energy finding where they have her after I heard her prayer.” Speaking quickly, eager to help in any way he could, he rattled off the address where you were being held, and without further delay, Dean raced to the garage, hoping against hope that you were alright.

He jumped into Baby, screeching out of the bunker, leaving Sam and Cas without a second thought. When he’s nearly five blocks from the address, the impala jerks to a stop and he realizes the demons must have set something up that would stop any sort of technology from functioning. Fucking demons. He doesn’t bother with his phone, both because he knows it won’t work and because he has no time, he only grabs his machete from the seat beside him. Then he runs.

Please don’t be too late.

The houses blur together, but Dean keeps his eyes on the prize. Was that thumping the sound of his feet hitting the pavement or his heart? He doesn’t know. He can see the house you’re in, he can practically hear it shifting in the wind. It’s an old, white two-story house that once could have been beautiful if it hadn’t been abandoned years ago. The windows are broken and the dirty panel siding is falling apart. When he finally reaches the overgrown yard, he wastes no time jumping the rotted fence and leaping onto the front porch. The door is knocked down after only a few hits from his shoulder.

At this point, his brain catches up and he slows down, creeping into the living room with his machete gripped tightly ahead of him, even though his heart is screaming at him to tear the place apart. Calm down, Dean. This could be a trap. The stench of sulfur invades his senses, yet no demons jump from the shadows to slow his search. Nearly every wall is covered with symbols, some of them Dean recognizes, but most are foreign to him.

After clearing the ground floor, Dean climbs the creaking stairs to find a hallway with two doors on the left and one on the right. He throws open the door to the right and his eyes scan the dusty bedroom. His eyes flit over the metal bed frame holding a moth-eaten mattress before peering into the closet and spying a lone jacket.

His feet carry him out of the room and into the hallway. He opens the next nearest door and finds an empty room, no furnishings unless you count the dead rat in the corner. He once again walks back into that damn hallway of doom.

Dean’s heart beats harder than it already was as he walks to the final door, scared to find what’s inside. What would he do if you weren’t there? Better yet, what if you were in there? He doesn’t know what state you’ll be in or if a demon lay in wait, but he doesn’t allow his fears to hold him back.

Pushing his nagging thoughts aside, Dean nudges the already cracked door open with the toe of his boot. Instinctively, he holds his breath as a cloud of what could only be described as the smell of rotten eggs slams into him. With a quick glance, he realizes the only inhabitants of the room are you and a metal rod.

Dropping by your side, the hunter’s weapon is long forgotten as his jeans quickly dampen with your blood. You’re sickly pale, and crimson covers your stomach. He gasps as he sees your hand resting on the jagged stab wound and he knocks your limp arm aside, replacing your hand with his own. Hurry up, Cas. Dean realizes that his hands aren’t doing you any good because blood no longer pours from your stomach. He nearly loses the contents of his stomach as he comprehends how the puddle he sits in is cold and sticky. Full of fear and desperation, his eyes snap to your face, and what he sees stops his fiercely beating heart.

Your beautiful (e/c) eyes, usually so full of life, are staring glassily at the ceiling. You mouth is partly open, a trail of dried blood going from your lips to your jaw. His hands shoot up to cradle your head, holding his breath once again, trying to hear you breathing. His efforts are only met with silence. His head moves on it’s own accord, frantically shaking back and forth, not wanting to believe what’s right in front of him.

A sob breaks its way from his throat and more try to follow but he forces them away, refusing to give up on you so soon. He starts chest compressions, though his experience yells that it’s too late. He was too late. No, he can’t have been. His lips meet your chapped ones, trying to give you air, and he tastes copper. That penny-like tang wakes him from his hope fueled frenzy and he jerks away from you. From your corpse.

He can’t stop himself as he scrambles to the corner to throw up what little food he had forced down that day. When his stomach is empty, he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. He stumbles back over to you, shock enveloping him like a blanket. He can only think of how wet and cold you must be in that strange crimson pool. 

He carefully lifts your limp form, your head lolling to rest against his neck. He remembers all the times he carried you out of the impala when you had fallen asleep after a hunt. He would never carry you to your room and tuck you in again.

He carries you to the first bedroom and lays you gently on the mattress. He’s sure you wouldn’t mind the dust. The last rays of sun shine through the window as Dean sheds his flannel and covers your upper half with it before closing your eyes and kissing your forehead. For a moment, a blissful moment, it looks like you’re sleeping.

Reality comes crashing in and he falls to his knees. His jaw unhinges to let out an anguished scream, but all that comes out is a broken cry. He grabs your cold hand as tears flow down his face, murmuring,“(Y/N) please… wake up… don’t leave me, I can’t- I can’t do this without you… I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He repeats his pleas through his cries, not noticing when Sam and Castiel arrive.

They realize what’s happened and share heartbroken looks. Sam steps forward, his eyes avoiding your still form, and places his hand on Dean’s shoulder, trying to comfort his brother. Castiel walks around the bed and moves to pick up your body but Dean jumps up, knocking Sam back, and snatches you to his chest.

Sam gently speaks to his brother, unsure of what to do,“Dean, why don’t you let Cas carry (Y/N)-”

“No,” Dean harshly cuts him off, “You can’t take her from me. Nobody can.”

Sam and Cas have another silent conversation before Castiel softens his voice and says, “Ok, Dean, you can carry her. Let’s get to the car so we can go home.”

Dean nods his head absently and follows Sam to the stolen car parked beside the impala, none of them caring if someone saw. The eldest Winchester carefully folds himself into the back, opting to not buckle up so he doesn’t have release his hold on you. Sam drives while Cas sits in the passenger seat, nobody speaking, too caught up in their thoughts and grief.

Tears steadily flow down Dean’s face. Yet again, he can’t help thinking of the “what if"s, replaying the day over and over in his head, blaming himself for your death. If he had gone on the supply run instead, maybe he would be the one dead and not you. His thoughts are jumbled but one stands out from the others. Revenge. He wouldn’t just kill the demons that took you from him, he would make them suffer.

Sam fights his emotions, refusing to cry, trying to stay strong for his big brother. You and he had been close. You were three years older than him and took care of him, making sure he ate and slept enough. He knew he could always come to you for advice, backup, or comfort. Now, his big sister figure was dead in the back seat and he didn’t know what to do.

Castiel only lets a few tears slip, not used to the emotions he’s feeling. You had always been kind to him and tried to make him feel included. You had one of the brightest souls he had ever seen. You never liked him doing dangerous things, always saying how he could get hurt despite how many times he reminded you he was an angel, and could use his grace to heal.

As they’re driving, they pass a park. Dean sees a man pushing a little girl on the swings while a woman holding a baby watches on. You would be a great mother- He doesn’t allow himself to finish that thought.

They finally arrive at the bunker and Dean carries you in, scattering the rose petals with his heavy steps and causing the candles that were still lit to flicker out. He places you on the table, going to your shared room after cleaning you up to get your favorite clothes–he can’t send you off in blood-soaked garments. Dean then gathers sheets from the linen closet to wrap you in. He’s not ready to let you go, let alone burn you–heck, he still hasn’t come close to processing that you’re gone–but knows he has to because you had made it clear that once you were dead, you didn’t want to come back.

But what about what he wanted? He wanted you back, safe in his arms. Why can’t he get what he wants for once, why can’t he be selfish? It’s not fair. He’s stuck down here with no clue what to do without you, and you’re somewhere, happy, clueless to the pain he’s going through. But he won’t take you away from your paradise because he knows what it’s like to have happiness ripped away and you of all people deserve peace, even if that means he has to suffer. He’s willing to let you go because he loves you, always has and always will.

Meanwhile, Sam and Castiel make quick work of building a funeral pyre. They do so with heavy hearts and troubled thoughts. Sam has a sudden burst of inspiration and he asks Cas if he can bring you back.

Castiel’s heart breaks more than it already has as he says,"I’m sorry, Sam, but I can only help people who have something left to heal. As much as I don’t want to admit it, (Y/N) was probably dead soon after she prayed to me. Maybe if I had realized sooner…”

“No, don’t start thinking like that, man. We’re lucky you even managed to get a location with all that warding. Maybe if we look through some books we can find a way to bring her back.” Sam states, clinging to his newfound hope.

Castiel shatters the youngest Winchester’s delusions as he speaks with a wavering voice,“No, Sam. Even if we did find something, which is not likely, do you really think she would want that? That she would want us breaking ourselves apart to bring her back? Besides, she made her thoughts on resurrection clear.”

Sam looks away, tears welling up once again, before speaking,“Yeah, you’re right. She wouldn’t want that. She would want us to move on.”

The two fall back into silence, placing the final logs on the pile just as Dean walks out carrying your body swaddled in white cloth. He says nothing as he sets you on the platform, kissing your forehead for the last time. He backs away to stand beside Cas and stares at the ground as Sam pours lighter fluid around the base of the pyre.

Sam backs away and pulls a match from the box, going to light it when Dean suddenly speaks up,“Wait! Let me do it… please. I need to.”

Sam’s surprise is apparent as he asks, “Are you sure? I mean, we wouldn’t blame you if this is too much-”

Dean answers by snatching the match and box out of his brother’s hands. Dean takes a deep breath and closes his eyes before exhaling slowly and looking out, green orbs filled with anguish and a muted determination. He lights the match and throws it, watching as the flames quickly consume your body. The smell of smoke quickly consumes the three, needlessly reminding them you’re gone.

After a few minutes, Sam goes inside, exhausted from everything that’s happened. He replays the day’s events, thinking of how he went from excited that his brother was going to propose to you, to terrified when he found out you had been taken, to the one he was still feeling, unexplainable grief.

Castiel waited with Dean a little while longer before trying to prompt the hunter inside. He was met with silence and when he tried again he only received a gruff “no.” After deliberating, he flew away to the nearest park to give both himself and Dean space to think. He thought about visiting you in Heaven but held himself back. He wasn’t ready to face you so soon after failing to save you. Maybe some other time in the future he would pop in, but now wasn’t the time.

Dean stood alone in silence, watching the floating embers take you far away. When he went to speak, his voice was rough,“I’m sorry, (Y/N). I’m sorry I was too late. I hope you can forgive me someday, wherever you are. Maybe if I hadn’t waited you would still be here. I’m sure you’re in Heaven, sweetheart… I don’t know where I’ll go when I die but maybe, just maybe, I’ll join you and we can have a life together–or afterlife, you know what I mean. We could keep hunting or have an apple pie life, I don’t really care as long I’m with you. I promise, I’ll do whatever it takes to see you again.”

As Dean Winchester stood by the dying fire, he never let go of the velvet box in his pocket. Maybe I’ll put it on a necklace, he thought. When the flames finally died down to glowing embers, he walked away, heart brimming with agony and anger, one thought at the forefront of his mind.

I will see you again.


End file.
